The Iron Kiss
by annalisedream
Summary: Alistair Kirkland tried his hard to help raise his family since his father fell ill and died, he never imagine his fate would change when he met Francine. They met and their friendship grew, until she invites him to her annual ball. At first, it was a dare then it change to something much more. [ a Cinderella AU ]
1. Chapter 1

Rain battered the earth like a hail of bullets.

The pounding of the horse' hooves trudged against the mud, not slowing down its pace. The three riders hurried down the wet slick path, not daring to speak a word. They are racing against time. The leading horseman, a dark blond haired man, wore nothing but a plain shirt and trousers with his tattered green cloak flowing against the cold harsh wind. Trailing behind, was a man and a woman.

"Whoa," The other man ,wearing an bronze armor, said, as he gently pulled the reins, rearing his horse to halt. His skin is deeply tanned, both his hair and eyes are a dark brown. He dismounted his horse, as he walked towards the others. He glanced at the woman, weak and frail from their journey. Her tired, faded emerald eyes was dull, and it pains him to see her in such condition. Her once silky golden hair was now dry and frizzy.

"Why are we stopping?" The woman demanded sharply, her voice is still firm. The armored man sighed, extending his hand towards her, a gesture.

"I can only bring you this far," He explained, as the woman scoffed, but she accepted his invitation, and slid off from the horse. She brushed the invisible lint off from her sleeves before she faced the other man who's still mounting on his dappled silver horse.

"Caratacus," The woman spoke, her breath visible under the mid-winter air. "Augustus said that he can only go this far, the rest is our journey."

The man steered his horse around, so he faced them. He shook his head, closing his eyes. "No, we can't stop here. There's miles to go before we're safe." Caratacus said, hoarsely and straining. His body quivered from the cold and fear. "There's miles to go..." He repeated, his eyes fell upon the woman's round belly.

The woman reacted by moving her hands down to her belly, feeling a slight kick. Her lips curved upward at Caratacus warmly, but then a sudden an agonizing pain struck her, her eyes momentarily blinded. She felt her knees buckled, hurling to the ground. She let out a weak moan as a pair of strong arms caught her from falling. She felt the cold damp earth as she was set down in a sitting position.

"Briana!"

She heard her name, desperate mixed with concern. She fluttered her eyes open, trying hard not to gag or throw up.

"Caratacus," She whispered her lover's name as he came close, kneeling down in front of her. He touched her cheeks, gingerly, afraid. His eyes gazed up towards Augustus, who's holding her, brushing the hair strand from her face.

"How long can she hold up?" Augustus asked Caratacus under a quick whisper. Caratacus briefly glanced at Briana before returned his gaze back to the man.

"Less than an hour." Was his reply.

Briana heard Augustus cursed out loud, in a different language.

_Latin._ She thought in her mind.

"By all means, we must hurry," Augustus grunted, gently pulling Briana up to her feet, slowly walking to Caratacus' horse. Caratacus followed them, opening his arms around Briana, as she shivered from the icy wind. Augustus let go of her, heading up to his horse and mounted. "There's a nearby village not far from here. I already send my legion to escort your two sons and your daughter to safety." Augustus quipped, seizing a hold of the reins.

"Would they be all right?" Briana inquired, as Caratacus hoisted her up, placing her in front of him, his arms wrapped around her body, securing her in the position.

Augustus nodded his head, although the woman didn't look back at him.

They rode on in silence, listening to the rain, beginning to die out. Augustus eyed at the couple in front of him, his heart tingled with jealously, watching them exchanged sweet murmurs.

Augustus remembered the day he met Briana, a young and exquisite. Even if she's a real beauty, she showed her strength and her cunning ways. She later introduced to Caratacus, whom later taught him a few sword fight tactics and maneuvers, while trading their few military secrets. Augustus admired Caratacus and became fast friends, til this day. As for Briana, she had grown more and more stunning, Augustus developed his feelings towards her but Caratacus had got there first. Briana seem to always blush when Caratacus was around. She would always brushed his hair from his eyes as he would always hold her hands like they are two young lovers. Caratacus was indeed handsome, statuesque-like body, and even more romantic than Augustus. They had drifted apart when they grew older. He had to lead his rising empire, while she got married to Caratacus and settle down with two beautiful sons, Alistair and Dylan, and a daughter, a stubborn minded Janet.

He was staring into space, just when Caratacus was facing him, shouting angrily at him. Augustus blinked slowly, as his reverie broke apart, and Caratacus' words became more clearer to him.

Augustus heard an arrow whizzed by, then suddenly wetness seeped through and a quick stabbing pain from his left arm. He let out a cry, urging his horse to a full gallop. He nodded at Caratacus, taking the rear, as Caratacus spurred his horse. Augustus winced as he took out the arrow, tossing it to the ground and looked back over his shoulders, squinting his eyes over the distance. He could see faintly see an army gaining up against them, a clamor of voiced swirled in the air, breaking its peace.

_It couldn't be. It can't be over. _Augustus thought in his mind, snapping his attention back to Briana and Caratacus. His heart nearly jolted out from his body as Briana fell limp besides Caratacus, who shifted his arm to hold her up, another hand on the reins. He could see his friend straining as his weaken arms shook. Augustus knew they wouldn't last long. He bit his lips as he galloped next to him.

"The village is just up ahead," Augustus told Caratacus, giving him false hope.

"They are gaining at us," He replied, his exhausted eyes gazed at Augustus, then a soft chuckle came. "Even if we die under the hands of our enemies, then we die trying to live." A smile quirked up from his lips. Augustus reached out his hands, carefully propping Briana upright.

"Not if we gave them a sacrifice." He answered boldly, but it came out soft-spoken.

Caratacus widened his eyes, leaning forward to grabbed a hold of Augustus' arm. "Don't **_you_** dare try to do anything Roman-like." He gritted his teeth, but Augustus shrugged the grip away, his eyes drifted to the gaining army.

"You promised us that you will live!" Caratacus fumed, skidding to a halt.

"What are you doing?" Augustus said, tight on the reins. His horse nickers softly, panting from its run.

"What do you think?" Caratacus hissed, his eyes set intensively at his friend. "We are in this together. Either we die or live. There's no negotiations."

Augustus let out a amused sigh, shaking his head. He brushed away his brown hair, still chuckling. He didn't know what came to him, laughing like a child, but it made him somehow brave. Caratacus still held his glare at him, not breaking away when Briana slowly looked up to see.

"You need to save yourself and your Briana," Augustus began, gazing at her. His laughter died down as Briana looked straight at him, her fingers gripped tightly against Caratacus' arms, her eyes doe-eyed.

Augustus looked away, biting his lips hard to contain his whimper.

"I don't matter anyways," He said, titling his head towards the darkened sky. He felt a streak of tear run down from his cheeks as he clutched the reins.

"Dia, you do matter. To us." Caratacus interrupted, placing his hands against his lap, a gentle gesture. "I love you. I just don't want anything to harm you." He murmured to him, not meeting his eyes. "God, I said it. I love you. You're my friend and always be my friend. I can help you find a lover, a wife. Anything you want. A family if you wanted to. Maybe several wives. Pretty looking that is."

Augustus couldn't help but to laugh as Caratacus went along. Briana cast a small grin, seeing the two friend smiling. Even though they are going through dark times, they still managed to keep a strong brotherhood and joked around like boys.

"But I want you to live," Caratacus said, after the chuckle fell away.

Augustus fell silent, searching for an answer. And he did.

He smiled at them, before turning his horse around.

"Augustus," A warning.

He ignored Caratacus and slowly rode his horse towards the army.

"Augustus, don't leave us." Briana's sharp whisper made Augustus turned his head, looking over his shoulder. Augustus dipped his head as a farewell, knowing it's the last time that he will see her, then he looked back at Caratacus.

"Vale et valete," Augustus uttered the words which seem like daggers to his heart.

He avoided their reactions as he spurred his horse again, drawing out his spatha from its scabbard. He gazed at the sword, the only thing that remained a memory of Caratacus. He had given his favourite sword to Augustus, as a gift of brotherhood. He used the spatha every time he led his legions during his war. Every time he used the spatha, it reminded him of Caratacus. He smiled softly, as he looked up in the distance, seeing Fabius, his long blond hair and lambent blue eyes burning with intensively. Fabius caught his glance, smirking with challenge. Augustus weighed the spatha in his hands. Even without looking back, he could sense that Caratacus and Briana haven't left yet, as if they are waiting for something.

The time seem to slow down when Briana sang. A melancholy voice echoed, yearning and soaring. Augustus closed his eyes, a tender sigh came from him.

_My gentle harp, once more I waken,_

_The sweetness of thy slumb'ring strain_

He reopened his eyes, charging across the terrain, feeling the vibrations from the horse, as it sprung into a full gallop.

_In tears our last farewell was taken_

_And nos in tears we meet again._

Their swords clashed, sparks flying off from the metals. Augustus grunted, pushing through the ranks, as he met Fabius. The men locked their eyes together, challenge lingered in the air. They circled around each other, finding a moment to strike and end it all. Fabius' army surrounded them, they held their attack at bay, waiting for Fabius' orders. _  
><em>

"So we meet again, Augustus. So how are things recently. I've noticed, it's not so well." Fabius smirked, his blue eyes bored onto the Roman. He gave a amused chuckle as Augustus struggled to find a remark.

Augustus cleared his throat, straightening his back. "I've only come here for one thing. You want my life, so I allow you to have it."

Fabius' brows raised with surprise, noticing his expression, Augustus quickly added.

"But I'm not going down without a good fight from you." He smiled sweetly at the man. Fabius grunted, nodding.

"That's more the Augustus I know and treasured, but killing you would be just as easy."

"Aren't you a sunshine in my life." Augustus said, as Fabius seized his chance, charging towards him with his sword raised. Augustus reacted, raising his sword as well.

_It's a beautiful thing_. Augustus thought to himself, as the sword pierced into the skin.

_It's a beautiful thing to see your blood spilled in your enemy's hands._

* * *

><p>The room smelled musky and damp from the rain. Shouts and hollers clashed together as a symphony as she roared with pain.<p>

"M-mum," A frightened voice spoke, small hands touched Briana's arms, lightly.

Briana shook her head, gasping for air. Her hair was malted with sweat, she slowly opened her eyes. A beautiful young boy, no older than six, was staring at her with frightful eyes. She reached out to the boy, stroking his dark tousled hair, already showing its faint redness for it. Briana smiled, leaning forward, kissing the boy's head.

"Don't worry, hon. Mum's going to be all right. Just-" Briana's body shook, as another wave of spasm came from her belly. She bit her lip hard, blood became trickle down her chin.

Another pair of hand held her tightly, it distracted from her pain, for a while.

"She's not going to hold any longer, the child is still inside." Another voice hissed, ordering. Female. Feet scampered on the wooden floor.

Briana gathered her strength to gaze up, touching Caratacus' chiseled features, her hands felt cold under his warm skin. She burst out sobbing, as Caratacus leaned forward, kissing her hair, then her near frozen lips.

"You're not going to die," He whispered fiercely, as he wrapped his arms around her. "You're not going to leave us."

Briana wanted to smile, joking that he's overreacting the situation. She gave birth before to three wonderful children, the fourth one wouldn't be a problem. She opened her mouth to speak but coughed violently.

The woman appeared in Briana's vision, setting a damp cloth on her forehead. Her expression was wary from her work to aid the childbirth. "Just a few more push." She ordered Briana and stumbled away, getting a bronze basin and a pair of scissor. Briana took this moment to glanced at the boy. Her boy.

"Allistair, dear, where's your deartháir?" She asked her son, reaching out her arms towards him. The boy slowly walked over to her side, taking her hands. Alistair silently gazed at Briana, placing his hands on her forehead.

"He's asleep, mum." Alistair said, his voice shook slightly. Briana chuckled weakly, her face was sickly white under the candlelight. "I don't want you to go," He cried, rubbing his eyes as tears streaked down from his face. Briana frowned, tilting her son's face.

"Mum's not going anywhere. She will always be here for you." Briana breathed, slowly, turning her gaze at her husband. "Caratacus, if I die, and I said if, would you take care of the children? Marry another to protect my children. Love her just as you will love me," She whispered gingerly to his ears. Caratacus gripped her shoulders, a flash of resentment appeared in his eyes, but it soon faded as he nodded his head slowly.

"Aye, I would marry another. For our children." He promised to her, as he kissed her again.

Briana broke free from the touch after a while, before turning her head to her son.

"Alistair, promise me that you that you will take care over your brother and your sister, no matter what the cost." Briana said, sternly. Alistair quickly nodded his head. "...and real man shed a few tears,"

"Yes, mum." He replied, wiping his tears away. Briana smiled warmly and kissed her son's head again.

The woman came to the edge of the bed, nodding at Briana, a signal. Briana let out a sigh before she send out a massive push, screaming with agony as her body spasm again. She felt a wetness from the bed, leaking, as she clutched Caratacus' hands tightly.

"One more." The woman commanded.

Briana gasped heavily, struggling to fight for her life, as white dots appeared to danced around her eyes. She pushed once more, giving all her energy she had left. She moaned, kicking out her legs, as she prayed and prayed. The woman pulled out a child from Briana, quickly cutting the child's cord with the scissors and washed the blood away. She patted firmly on the infant's back, getting him to breathe his first gulps of air.

The woman smiled, tickling the infant's chin, crying as the child gets its first breath.

"A healthy boy,"

The woman said as she handed to boy to Caratacus' arms. He held the child close to him, nuzzling his cheeks. He gazed lovingly at the child, a first real genuine smile played across his lips. "Arthur is his name, just like we always wanted, right?" He said, turning his head to Briana but stopped cold.

Alistair bounded excitedly, clapping his hands joyfully as he tapped Briana's shoulder.

"Mum! It's a boy," Alistair said, giggling. "His name is Arthur!"

Silence.

Alistair tapped his mum again, sudden filled with fear. "Mum?" He whimpered as he looked at his mother's clouded, lifeless eyes, staring at the ceiling. Her mouth was parted, a partial smile. Alistair fell to the floor, sitting there, with his mouth gaped open. Caratacus shook his head with disbelief, he screamed, placing Arthur on the bed next to Briana as he stormed out the room, bursting out a cry. The woman let out a yelp, chasing after Alistair's father.

The boy slowly rose from the floor, moving towards the bed again, lifting Arthur from the bed, and held his younger brother close to him.

"A real man sheds a few tears," Alistair whispered to his brother, even though the infant couldn't understand words yet, but he will someday. "You would grow up as a real man and shed tears with me, right?"

Arthur set his eyes on his older brother, his soft hands reached out to the air, making mock punches. He cooed, softly, but Alistair take that as a yes.

"Let's mourn together, Arthur."

* * *

><p>Hey guys, this is my second fanfiction here and very excited to post this story. This is a different take on the classic story of Cinderella. Mostly, there's some historical reference as the backbone of this story and I will post that on the author's notes near the very end.<p>

Hope you enjoy this chapter.

_Name Guide (based from origin)_

Briana (Mother Britannia)

Caratacus (Papa Celt)

Augustus (Rome)

Fabius (Germania)

Background Notes:

When Augustus mentioned about his interactions with Briana and Caratacus, it's actually true (for most part). Around the time of Roman Empire, some of the Romans went west, a place they named Britannia, which means Great Britain. Around the same time, the Celtics are currently living there. The Romans are very curious about the Celtic people so they established friendship and peace (also the fact that the Celtic had stronger weapons and faster and lighter chariots). The Romans took some of the Celtic culture, like their swords (which is now Roman spatha) and their goddess Epona, a Celtic goddess of horse. While the Celtics received the Romans culture, such as literature, winery, food, etc.

The song that Briana sang was a Celtic war lullaby from Ireland (possibly). I chose this song because it's fitting to the main plot. The song is called "My Gentle Harp"


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for those who are reading this story. I very appreciate your support and thank you for the reviews. Sorry if this is shorter than the previous chapter.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. ^^

* * *

><p>Alistair hauled the stone from the wooden cart and transferred it on the ground, taking a slight pause to catch his breath. He glanced up, counting the number of the stones.<p>

_Fifteen_. He counted as he straightened his back to stretch. He could hear his shoulder blades cracked softly as he flexed his arms. He rubbed his injured shoulder, grunting painfully.

"You don't have to overwork yourself, Al," He heard his brother said. Arthur stopped applying the mortar against a part of the wall. They have been working on the stone tower for several months now, almost a year, and yet there's not a single reason why they are building it. It was her orders. His stepmother, Lady Hanna, had pretty much taken over the household, while his father was out of town. Hanna had grown used to Alistair and his siblings to work various chores, from cleaning the dusty attic, washing the clothes, repatching the roof, and to cook meals.

It wasn't half a year ago when a very wealthy man happen to come by while Alistair and his sister Janet was plowing the fields. He seemed very curious over Janet, his eyes lingered over at her fair gingered hair and her figure. Alistair remembered he had to shield her to avoid any further glances and scowled at him. The man just chuckled and continued his way down the dirt path.

Alistair suppressed a sigh, combing his maroon colored hair. He leaned his elbow against the wooden cart, returning a gaze at Arthur.

"It's just a sore, nothing else." Alistair prompted as he shifted his feet, uncomfortably. A throbbing pain spread across his sole as he stepped on something sharp. A small pebble, he guessed. He tried to keep a straight face, not flinching from the pain. He had gone used to it, wearing nothing but old and torn shoes. He's usually fine wearing straw like shoes during the summer, but with the winter drawing near, it's a different story.

Before Arthur could even argue, Dylan turned around to face his brothers, his face filled with concern.

"We should take a break now," Dylan mustered, jerking his head towards a faint figure coming from the house, coming near to them. "Janet's coming this way,"

Alistair couldn't help but to cast a small glance at Arthur, seeing him puffed his cheeks with frustration. He rubbed his temple, unsure what to react. Over the past ten years, Arthur had grown detached. Alistair found is strange, maybe it's just his personality. It pains him to remember how he held Arthur close to him, as they mourned together after their mother's death. Janet and Dylan was standing outside, their faces hard to comprehend under Alistair's stinging tears. He remembered that his father, Caratacus, bellowed with grief, a strong and bold man, now broken into pieces. Alistair and his siblings had recovered from their trauma but Caratacus was never the same again. He could remembered late at night, when nightmares of his mother's death struck, he would ran to his father's room, but only found him, huddling in the corner, holding a piece of locket to his heart, weeping softly.

Janet grinned happily, carrying a basket, stopping in front of them. _She haven't cut off her hair_. Alistair thought in his mind, briefly glancing at her long ginger hair. And by long, it's really long, almost down to her torso. Janet had her hair tied repeatedly in a bun so she wouldn't get it dirty.

"Why do you boys always looked so bum out?" She asked, raising her brow, before setting down her basket.

Alistair shrugged. "Haven't got a clue. Maybe it's because we are starving," He said, simply. He could hear Dylan and Arthur snickered from behind. At least he could still make them laugh.

Janet let out a soft chuckle, rolling her eyes. "Well it's a good thing I came here," She said, opening the basket. "I brought some bread and water,"

Alistair nodded, as he handed the bread slices to his brother. He watched the both of them sat down on the ground, chatting away, while munching on the bread, hungrily. He turned his gaze at the horizon, noticing the midday sun, warming up the air a bit.

"Alistair, are you all right?" Janet's worried tone asked. Alistair glanced over his shoulder, quickly quirking up a smile.

"It's naethin' special, just seeing the sun reminds me about our _athair_," Alistair replied softly, as he curled up his fingers slightly. Janet took a moment to eye her brother carefully before she responded.

She shut the basket lid, picking it up with her hand. "I heard he's coming back today," She said, matter of factly.

"He is?" Alistair felt his eyes grew wider with surprise, making sure he hasn't heard it wrong.

"Aye,"

Alistair quickly turned to Dylan and Arthur; a smile appeared on his face.

"Did ye hear 'at?" Alistair grinned from ear to ear, ignoring the fact that his accent is coming back again. A mild chuckle came from him, to him; it was like a heavy boulder lifting from his chest. Arthur quickly stood up, after he finished eating his bread. Wiping off the crumbs with the back of his hand, he glanced at his hands, a furrowed sketched on his face.

"Do we need to-" Arthur started but was quickly interrupted by Janet as she pulled him towards her.

"Stop talking," Janet let out a bubbly laughter as Arthur almost stumbled forward from the force as she lets go of his arm. She waved her index finger at her brothers, shaking her head. "Mother's going to get mad at us if we don't hurry up." Another giggle came, as she added before turning her heels and darted inside the house.

Arthur blinked, standing there, gawking.

"Tell me if she's isn't going a bit daft." He mumbled.

Dylan sighed, walking past him, rolling down his sleeves. "Stop talking," He mimicked Janet, teasing him slightly, as he went back to the house. Alistair clamped his hand over to his mouth, holding back a stiffed laughter. Arthur growled, throwing a punch at Alistair's arm.

"Stop it, it's not funny." Arthur snapped, giving him a glare, crossing his arms defensively. Alistair finally was able to regained control and straightened his back. An acute pain began to throb as he moved his arms too quickly. Arthur frown even further, noticing Alistair's quick grimace and sighed.

"Mother shouldn't be able to let you do labor," He said briefly.

"It's just a-"

Arthur flashed a look at his older brother.

"Don't you tell me it's just a sore," Arthur hissed, without a warning, he lunged forward, pulling hard against Alistair's injured arm. He let out a cry; hot tears appeared around his eyes.

"Stop it," Alistair began, choking under the pain, whimpering.

"It hurt isn't?" Arthur smiled, cocking his head to a side. "Well it hurts even more to see you worked your head off and Hanna won't even bother to cast a single look at you. To see how you raise your family and to raise me, without knowing what my real mother looks like." Arthur said, irritably. He blinked his eyes, pushing away his tears.

Alistair fell silent, feeling his heart plummeted to his stomach. This was the first time that Arthur ever spoke his emotions. He bit his lips, as he looked at his feet, seeing the same torn shoes that he always worn for ten years. Ten years since his father remarried. Ten years since his mother died. But Arthur was born and that's all that matters now. He couldn't lose Arthur now. Not even Janet and Dylan.

He took a deep sigh, slowly pulled away from Arthur's grip.

"Her name is Briana," He started, the coldness already settling in his veins. Memories of her death flashed in his mind.

Arthur glanced up, his green eyes flickered.

"She was the most beautiful woman; all men adored her and wanted to steal her away. But none of them had stolen her feelings away." Alistair went on.

"Until she met father," Arthur added with a smile.

"Aye, she met father, it was love at first sight," He replied, returning the smile. It has taken off his mood off a bit, as he retold the story. He had always known to be the best storyteller in his family, a side of his father. "They met and fell in love. They would dance and make alluring songs out of them. And they would sing their hearts for each other as they dance. They would…."

Alistair paused as Arthur closed his eyes, a smile slowly appeared.

"What song do they sing?" He asked.

Alistair chuckled softly.

"They would see ballads of the rise of the Romans, sweet battles fought, lovers embraced each other, and young warriors would dance." Alistair said, his voice suddenly dropped low and soft.

"What about the laurel?" Arthur wondered out loud, his eyes still closed, imagining.

"Yes, the laurel. He would give her a laurel. A special one, handmade out of his love and his heart. It would shine upon her head, whenever she smiled at the world; they would all fall to their knees and beg her to become their queen." Alistair breathed slowly and paused.

Arthur reopened his eyes as it lighted with energy. "What happens next?" He demanded, wanting to know.

Alistair shook his head. "The rest you should know," He chuckled, nodding at him. Arthur sighed, defeated.

"But," Alistair quickly amended. "I will tell you the rest when _athair_ comes home." He said, ruffling Arthur's blonde hair. "I'm not exactly a good storyteller."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "But you could learn from Father." He huffed quietly.

Alistair smiled thoughtfully. "Aye, 'tis true." He sighed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "So do you want me to go down in one knee and sing you a love ballad, because I think we got the time."

Arthur quickly ducked under, pushing away and quickly dashed back to the house, without looking back.

* * *

><p>"Hey do you think I should wear this?" Alistair asked as he gazed himself at the wall mirror, switching from a blue to a plain white tunic. "I think the blue matches my hair, right?" He broke off from the mirror and glanced at the others for their advice.<p>

Janet stood up after helping Dylan find his pair of new shoes. "Why am I'm the only one running around like a horse?" She muttered under her breath, darkly. Alistair cleared his throat.

"I need help deciding."

Janet snorted, turning her back to him. "The blue one will do."

Alistair shrugged, decided to choose the white one instead, as he hung the blue tunic up on the closet. He grunted softly as Dylan inched his way to the mirror, checking already groomed hair. He stripped off his work clothes, feeling relief washed over him as the cool air seem to lifted the heat and the dust from his skin.

"You should really take a shower," Alistair heard Janet's bored voice in the distance. "You look you just played around in the mud."

Alistair sighed, secretly admitting that she's right. His hair was matted with grime and sweat and his skin was dried with mud and a few cuts from lifting the stones. He quietly slipped out of the room, heading to the small bathroom, grabbing his new set of clothes. Closing the door, Alistair ruffled his hair as he turned on the water. Making sure that the water is warm enough, he took off his trousers and his shoes before stepping inside to shower, then pulled the curtains. The water trickled down from his hair down to his face as he began scrubbed hard around his fingernails and behind his ears. His tension seem to ease a little as he began to relaxed. He closed his eyes, feeling the water pelting down to his skin.

"Alistair, if you open your mouth to sing, I swear to God, I will shove the door in your face,"

Alistair glanced around, letting out an irritated scowl.

"I'm not singing, Janet." Alistair smirked, as he softly uttered a song, just to annoy her. The door swung open with Janet standing with her arms crossed.

"Out of the shower now," She demanded, as Alistair peered over the curtains enough that he could see her.

"But I wasn't singing loud enough yet,"

"Out. Now."

Alistair laughed, grinning widely. "Do you want to see me fully?" He asked her, jokingly, as he watched Janet's face redden. With a flash, she threw him a clean towel.

"Just don't waste water next time," She avoided the question and closed the door before she stumbled off to search for Dylan's shoes again.

It didn't take long for Alistair to dried himself and slipped on his white tunic and a pair of new trousers. The tunic felt soft under his skin, it was his first gift from Hanna, during Christmas and his only one. He rarely wore it often since it was made by the finest silk and hates for it to be damaged or stained. Alistair walked out from the bathroom, as their room appeared empty. There are voices coming downstairs, indicating that they are already at the foyer, awaiting for their Father arrival. Alistair took a last glance at the room, a last minute check, before he joined the others down at the foyer.

He climbed down the stairs, spotting Hanna rushing around, checking the cleanliness of the room, her velvet red dress swirled around her feet. "Alistair! There you are," Hanna called, seizing his arms as she scowled slightly. "You can't even buttoned your tunic right," She muttered, quickly fixing it. "And your hair! You look like a drenched cat!" She cried out, snapping her fingers. Janet quickly rushed to the laundry room and came out with towels.

"Mother," Janet said, handing Hanna the towels. Hanna snatched the towel and forcefully dried Alistair's hair, grunting. Alistair grimaced slightly, as Hanna tugged too hard.

"There, you look like a man now," Hanna took a step back, eyeing Alistair from top to bottom. "Oh, you're Father's going to arrive any moment," She fanned herself, as she plopped onto the couch.

Alistair turned his attention at the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of any carriage that went by. His heart pounded with excitement as a silver golden carriage rolled by, escorted by several uniformed men on their horses, carrying rifles.

"I found my shoe," Dylan said, beaming, as he came from the kitchen. Alistair turned around, placing his finger over his lips, then pointed at the window. Arthur and Janet huddled by the window, peering outside, brimming with curiosity. Dylan frowned, leaning forward to the window, wanting to see.

"Who is that?" Dylan asked, gaping in awe, as he watched the silver carriage. "I don't think that's our Father." He added.

Alistair went to the kitchen, following the carriage. He parted the curtain with his hand, peering outside. The carriage made a slight turn, so it was now closer enough so he could see who's inside. He spotted a young girl, her hair twirled in a luscious silken brunette, her lips was crimson red as it revealed a smile that Alistair would never forget. He was dazed by her beauty as he followed the carriage, taking in every moment that he saw her. The girl suddenly turned her head and met Alistair's eyes, he gulped softly. She couldn't possibly see him, but she waved politely at him, a kind gesture. With that, the carriage was out of sight, as the bugles slowly died down.

"Whenever she smiled at the world; they would all fall to their knees and beg her to become their queen." Alistair whispered to himself.

* * *

><p>Helpful guide to the names<p>

Alistair - Scotland

Arthur - England

Dylan - Wales

Janet - Ireland

Short Background Notes: I put Lady Hanna as their stepmom is because the Viking era. Basically the Norse (mostly Danes) conquer most of the British Isles, such as Scotland, Ireland, England, except for Wales. They actually build base at Wales, but not exactly wanted to conquer due to its lack of resources (perhaps). I would put Norway sometime later the story, the gender I'm unsure with.

Scottish Gaelic/Slang:

athair - father

It's naethin' special - It's nothing special

Did ye hear 'at? - Did you hear that?


	3. Chapter 3

There was chatter in the house. Alistair could hear them from the kitchen. He was still transfixed, slightly dazed. His mind raced excitedly as grinned. He didn't know how long he stayed there, it wasn't soon enough when they found him.

"Look at his face," A small laugh escaped.

"Yeah, you could see the hearts in his eyes,"

Alistair snapped his head, folding his arms. He pulled away from the window, strolling towards them. "Now stop acting immature," He scolded them, his eyes narrowed. Janet grinned mischievously as she prodded his shoulder.

"I heard she's a princess," Janet said, winking at her brother. "She's staying here for a while, maybe you could-" She elbowed Alistair, playfully.

"That's insane!" Arthur jumped in, pouting slightly. "There's no way he's that bold. He might hide in his room, instead going up to her."

Janet took a moment to ponder before she nodded her head at Dylan and Arthur. "True, but you may never know." She pursued her lips, tapping her chin. She shrugged her shoulders. She noted Alistair's sudden redness of his face and sighed. She turned to her brothers, herding them back to the foyer, ignoring the protests. Alistair let out an exhale, his head throbbed as he moved to the table, sitting down, burying his face against the table. He heard the murmurs again, something about preparing for their father arrival and the princess.

Francine was her name.

Alistair shut his eyes, trying to block her from his head, but it didn't work. He could see the spark in her eyes, humming with energy. Her cherry lips was soft and her skin was smooth as a pearl. And when she looked at him, his heart seem to pound faster. Alistair curled his fingers, sighing softly. _Stop imagining. _He thought to himself. _There's nothing special, you're just imaging. _

He felt the table vibrated gently, as a chair was pulled across the floor.

"Alistair, you're not taking this seriously, right?" Janet's soft voice echoed into his ears. Alistair grunted, lifting his head, just enough so he could see her. He shook his head as a reply.

"Of course not," Alistair scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"You don't seem like it." Janet replied, simply.

Alistair sat up straight, a frown appeared on his face. "I'm just worried,"

Janet's brows shot up.

"About Papa?" She asked, a strained in her voice. Alistair nodded his head, before he huffed quietly. His legs sprawled under the table while stuffing his hands onto his pocket of his trousers. Alistair admitted by nodded his head again.

"Aye," He muttered.

Janet propped her arms against the table, leaning forward. Back at the foyer, they could hear Hanna scolding at Dylan, complaining that his shoes are mismatched. Alistair burst out a quiet grin, before it soon faded.

"You don't have to push yourself too hard," Janet said, her eyes was calm. Alistair pressed his palms on the table, licking his lips.

"I'm not-" He tried to start.

"You are. Alistair, I understand you're trying your best to prove yourself to Hanna," Janet said. "But you can't expect her to love us just like mum,"

Alistair slumped back, resting his chin against his palm. He glanced at Janet, hating that she's right. He had pushed himself too hard, wanting Hanna to take noticed. But she never did. He couldn't blame her, actually. Hanna had came from a royal family and was married to their father. The only reason why father remarried is money. Their father couldn't pay off their debts, struggling to raise his family. Of course he loved Hanna, giving her gifts for their anniversaries and her birthdays. As for Hanna, Alistair wasn't so sure that she ever repay back. She did, once. But that was enough for Alistair.

Janet seem to caught his eyes. "You seem clean-shaven when you wear that shirt," She commented, cracking a smile.

"Oh? Do I look like less clean-shaven when I took off this shirt?" Alistair asked.

Janet nodded. "Always." She replied, smiling brightly.

Alistair wanted to opened his mouth, but was cut off by a squealing laughter. He wasn't sure if it was Arthur or Hanna, but he got up, almost knocking down the chair. Janet whirled around, rushing out from the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes, tiredly, before he joined the others back at the foyer. His heart quicken as he saw Dylan running down the stairs, half barefoot, while carrying a shoe.

"It's Papa!" Dylan hollered, which to Alistair was completely unnecessary to the noise level in the house right now.

Alistair turned his head, looking through the window and spotted man riding on a silver horse, drawing near to the house. Without even glancing back, he raced out to open the door. He stopped when he get to the bottom of the steps, revealing a smile. The man waved at him, urging the horse to sped up a bit. Father whistled softly to the horse as it cantered down to a complete stop before dismounting. He smiled again at Alistair, heading up on the path.

A blur of orange shot past Alistair, it was Janet, running towards the him, squealing with joy as he welcomed his arms to Janet.

Father smiled brightly at Janet. "What have you done to your hair, hmm?" He chuckled, as he pulled away from her, eyeing at her hair. Janet laughed, rolling her eyes. "Hanna liked it long, she told me it fits me."

"But it's past your torso!" He exclaimed, as he reached to the steps. He turned his head, glancing at familiar faces, a grand smile appeared.

"And Dylan," He said, glancing at him. "You...still need to eat some more," He added quickly before moving along. Alistair thought it was amusing to see Dylan, with his mouth gaped open.

His face widened as he spotted Arthur. "Gods, look how much you changed," He said. "You were this wee little," He leveled his hand down to his torso, indicating a height.

Arthur gave a mild chuckle. "And you grown a beard." He added with a slight smirk, then swiftly glanced back at Alistair, grinning.

Father rubbed his overgrown beard, thoughtfully. "Aye, it's true." His eyes twinkled, as he reached towards to Hanna, wrapping his arms around her waist, making her squeal with surprise. He leaned forward, gently kissed her. Hanna sighed, as she pulled away.

"Caratacus, you should really groom your hair more often." Hanna said, before heading back to the house. "Dinner's ready in an hour,"

Alistair watched Janet ushered her brothers back inside, as they helped Hanna in the kitchen.

A hand placed on his shoulder, making Alistair glanced back. Father smiled sadly at him.

"Why the sad face?" Father asked, his brows furrowed. The wind gusted across the field, piercing into Alistair's skin, as he looked up at him. He sighed softly, turning around, facing him.

"Oh, it's nothing, just things are rough when you're gone," Alistair admitted, but his eyes gave away as he briefly glanced at the half finished tower on the field. Father looked back, grunted with curiosity. Alistair drew in a breath, praying that he won't questioned further. Father turned around to Alistair and nodded.

"It's nice to come back," Father sighed, tilting up his head to look around, reaching forward and placed his hand against the stoned wall of the house. "I remembered your mum and I lived here and when you're born." He glanced at Alistair with a sad smile. "I surprised it's still here,"

Alistair nodded, glancing at the house. "You build this?" He wondered. Father beamed, ruffling his unkempt long hair. He chuckled softly, folding his arms together, shielding from the bitter wind. "Better hurry inside, you don't want the old man to freeze to death,"

Alistair snorted, shaking his head. At least humor helped lightened up the mood. He pushed the door inside, waiting for Father to follow. He heard a sudden wheezing, quickly turned to look back. He saw him, clutching his chest, painfully, but managed to hide the pain when he noticed his son is looking right at him. But Alistair knew behind those smiles, there was a grimace, hidden under his eyes.

* * *

><p>He watched silently as the sun comes down near the horizon, casting streaks of subtle blues and oranges in the sky. Dinner was lighthearted and jovial for it was usually quiet. Father had told several stories about his trip to the town, it even made Hanna laughed. Father was best when it comes to telling stories, the way he spoke and acted, was like a vivid memory.<p>

Alistair smiled sheepishly at the thought, as he lay down on the grass, his blue jacket underneath him. It was Arthur's birthday today, he thought silently. Father had gave him a new coat for the winter, as Arthur happily accepted the present. Red was always Arthur's favorite color. It's hard to believe he's fourteen now and just a year ago was Dylan's.

His eyes caught a figure, quickly he raised his head to see who it was. "Why are you here?" He asked, propping himself up as Father came over. "It's getting cold."

Father eyed at Alistair, raising his brow. "I was about to ask you the same thing," He huffed, Alistair noticed that behind Father was two horses, grazing at the grass. His eyes widened.

Father jerked his head towards the horses. "I hope you didn't forget how to ride them," He said, smirking.

Alistair flustered, stumbling as he stood up.

"Hanna won't allow us to ride." He gazed at the horses, excitement pounded in his heart. "I-I could ride them?" He asked, looking at Father.

Father responded to him, headed to the horses. "Grab one," He prompted, before mounting on the steed. Alistair gulped softly, his hands shook slightly as he grabbed hold of the reins, placing his foot on the stirrup before he hoisted himself on, grunting as he almost lost his footing. He let out a feigned laugh, as he felt dizziness swirled around him.

"O-okay, what now?" He asked, looking at Father.

Father winked at him, a smirk revealed under his beard. "We race," He answered shortly before he spurred the horse, sending it across the fields. Alistair grunted, digging deep onto the stirrup, as his horse fast behind Father's. Alistair coughed slightly as the Father's horse sent up bits of dust in the air, he quickly led his horse around in a wide circle, enough so he could raced Father side by side.

Alistair turned his head to the side, grinning at Father.

"You're not too shabby," Father mused a grin. He pointed towards the woods. "Whoever gets there and back to where we start, wins," His eyes glittered with challenge. Alistair looked forward, seeing the woods and nodded.

"Oh, you're on, _athair_." He replied back, urging the horse to match Father's sped. He gritted his teeth, a second later, Father leading again. The horse charged forth, as Alistair raced his horse, surpassing Father's. He let a small chuckle escaped from his lips, feeling the thundering of the hooves. The blood raced with adrenaline as he got to the woods, before reining the horse to make a swift turn around. Father caught up with him, bewilderment flashed across his face. Alistair gave a smug smile, giving the horse a slight nudge on its side, galloping back to the fields again.

"You're aren't suppose to win," Alistair heard Father mumbled to him swiftly as he went past him.

His ruffled in the wind, easing a smile, feeling the air on his face as he rushed through the fields. He didn't dare to look back when Father called out his name. He ignored him, drawing near to the tower. _Just a couple strides left. _He thought.

"Alistair!" Father shouted again, this time followed by a loud wheezing. Alistair's grin fell away, his veins turned cold with fear. He swiftly turned his horse around, facing Father. He watched Father grimaced with pain, his brows scrunched up together, as his hand moved to his chest, clutching his tunic tightly. Father managed his horse to cantered towards Alistair, before he groaned again and toppled to the ground.

Terror seized his heart, as Alistair slide off from his horse, his knees buckled as he landed on the ground, scrapping his knees on the rugged ground as he raced towards Father. His mouth trembled slightly as he held Father on his arms, parting his wild hair from his eyes. Father fluttered his eyes opened, hacking violently as he wheezed harshly. His eyes fell onto Alistair and drew a weak smile.

"You didn't finish our race," Father croaked, weakly, straining to breathe.

Alistair shook his head, muttering. He looked up at the house and cried. He screamed and screamed for help, until he felt his throat went dry. He gave up, knowing they are too far away. He glanced down at Father, shaking his head again. He flinched slightly as Father reached out to touched his cheeks.

Soon enough, Alistair heard the door opened from the house. A clamor of cries washed over, as Alistair slowly tilt his head up to look. Janet, with her hair undone, running towards them with her nightgown, followed the others. Father smiled at them softly, as Hanna scrambled towards him, her knees fall to the ground, lifting him up, cradling on her arms. She burst out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hanna..." Father whispered, trying to comfort her, but Hanna grabbed a hold of his hands.

"Don't try to speak." Hanna shook gingerly. "I'm going to get you to bed, a rest might help."

"I don't think I would recover," Father mustered, but he gazed at Alistair. Janet kneel down next to Hanna, squeezing her hand for comfort as she glanced back to Father, tears already sweeping from her eyes. Dylan and Arthur was standing, their faces covered with terror. Alistair wanted to close his eyes. _They are young_, he thought bitterly. Arthur clutched tightly on Dylan's arms, wearing the red coat that Father had brought him. Alistair could see that Arthur shook with fear, as Dylan reached over, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight. He tore his gaze away, replacing his attention to Father, still lies on Hanna's arms.

"N-No, you're going to recover, I'm going to help you to bed." Alistair scowled, as he wrapped his arm around his shoulders, another propping Father to stand. An hand stopped Alistair. Father shook his head slightly, before the wheezing came.

"By gods, Father! What do you want us to do?" Alistair hissed, as he sat down next to him, his fingers curled up against the grass, twisting it as he grabbed a handful. Father let out a bubbly laugh, his hand still gripping on his arm.

"Just let me look at my stars again," He breathed out slowly, looking at their faces. Alistair waited for a explanation. But none came.

Alistair stared hard at Father's eyes. Seeing it was nothing but lifeless eyes.

Behind him, was a symphony of weeps and mourning, to Alistair, it was an echo to him, hollow and clamorous.

The rain pelted down, for the first time.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry guys for the rush ending, I wanted to make the ending different feel from the prologue. For the next chapter, I'll start to write a little about Francine and few other characters. Thanks for reading this and leaving reviews, it really supports me to write.


	4. Chapter 4

Politics wasn't Francine's best subject. Barely a minute past and already Francine began to doodle on a paper.

A marriage pact that is.

"Francine! What on earth?" A voice gasped above her, a hand snatched the paper away from her grasp. "This is an official document!" It was a father, serious as ever. He gripped the paper, waving it in front of Francine, frustrated. "You're supposed to represent this kingdom and you can't barely resemble that!"

Francine sighed, mustering up a grin. "Maybe rewrite it?" She offered genuinely. Her father shook his head, pacing around the room.

"The deadline's at a month, there's no more negotiations." Her father huffed, placing his hands behind him. Francine watched silently, following the movement. "And you know Queen Lovise is getting impatient. Besides, I don't understand why you wouldn't married-"

"Father, I only met him once, you know." Francine butted in, her voice was strained. She gripped onto the table, looking at her father. Father glared at her, a frown set upon his face.

"You could at least try to act, the people are looking forward to this event, so does Queen Lovise," He lectured, stopping in front of Francine, then shook his head. Francine pouted, rising from her seat, almost knocking down the ink. Francine stared at her father, swallowing softly. It's true that she met the prince . The short wild blonde hair, eyes deep as ocean, the kind that almost set every girls swoon. Francine was one of them, she admitted truthfully. Every time he glanced at her, she would blushed fervently and look away. She was considered as lucky since not all ladies from the kingdom could get to marry him, but marrying the prince also meant that her father will leave his throne to her, and she will become coronated as a queen. To Francine, it's too much for her, to become responsible for her father's-no, her kingdom and being diplomatic wasn't her best forte.

"I just don't understand why you can leave Gilbert your throne, he's the oldest, by the way." Francine muttered, looking at her feet. Father scoffed, opening his mouth, when the door gently opened. A boy peered in, glancing around the room. It was one of the elite royal guards, her Father's guards to be exact, but it will be soon be hers less than a month away. The boy smiled sheepishly, which Francine thought it was cute. Especially the way his brunette hair was slick back and groomed, giving him the elegance.

"King Fabius, your sons had arrived from the overseas, just as your requested." The boy swiftly bowed to him, before he straightened his back, briefly noticed Francine and dipped his head. "Your majesty," He greeted her with a smile. Francine drew a smile, trying to contain her excitement. Her spirits grew at the mention of her half-brothers' names. They are going to come see her.

King Fabius nodded his head. "Thank you, Ronan. Are they at the palace, yet?" He asked him.

"Yes, do you want to bring them over?" The boy replied, as King Fabius nodded again. The boy bowed again, before retreating back outside. Francine waited for the boy to leave, before she squeal and went over to hugged her father. King Fabius grunted with surprise, hugging her back before pulling away.

"Thank you," Francine said, beaming happily.

King Fabius chuckled, mildly, before he turned around, going out to the door.

"Just make sure you-" King Fabius said, extending out his hand to open it. The door flew wide open, as a boy stumbled in, letting out a surprise gasp. King Fabius stared at the boy as he straighten up his shirt and brushed his silvery platinum hair out from his eyes. Gilbert cleared his throat.

"I'm back," Gilbert said, bowing down to his father, before propping himself up straight. His shirt was half-buttoned, dirty and torn, with his hair wild and salty from the seas. _At least that smile is what keeps his appearance better. _Francine thought.

King Fabius kept a straight face, eyeing at his son, carefully. "Why can't you changed your clothes before came here? For gods' sake, you're a prince!" He asked, shaking his head slightly.

"But Ronan told me to come here quickly, hence why I didn't change my clothes." Gilbert explained, adding a smile afterwards. "And plus, I didn't bother..." He added in a low voice. King Fabius waved off the words with his hands, rubbing his temples. He let out a tired sigh, before he headed out to the door, muttering under his breath, something about being a failure.

Francine burst a smile, before rushing towards Gilbert.

"How's the seas?" Francine asked her half-brother, as Gilbert went forward, sitting on the polished mahogany table. He sighed, stretching his arms out.

"Stressful, actually. Couple of our guards fell sick, Ludwig can't sleep well, and I may or may not vomited all my food on me brother's shoes." Gilbert stated, his eyes shifted to his left, thinking. "I really don't remember,"

Francine chuckled, her eyes fell upon his shirt, seeing the stain up close. "Well your shirt says otherwise," She mused, pointing at his shirt. Gilbert looked down, his brows scrunched up together.

"Huh, I really did vomited," He phrased, suppressing a smile.

"Did you meet the Emperor?" Francine quipped, as she shifted her feet. Her brothers had went overseas to another kingdom, the Eastern Palace, to extend the peace treaty and their alliances. Normally it was her father's duties, but since the last four years, he had shifted his duties to Francine and her brothers. Francine took part in the domestic politics while her brothers took part in the foreign affairs.

Gilbert nodded his head. "He's pretty smart and knows what he's doing. We just signed a couple documents and papers and stayed at his palace for a while. He also hosted over-the-top parties." He told her. "Their clothes are just exceptionally elegant. All made of the finest silk and cotton. The Emperor's kind enough to let us bring a couple home,"

Francine mused, grinning slowly. Her heart raced with excitement, interested. She always imagined the Eastern Palace a mysterious place, she heard rumors about the kingdom believed and played with magic, but to them, it was just science. They are also exceptionally rich, even the villagers eat nothing but delicacies and wines. She also heard that everyone in the Eastern Palace was beautiful and exquisite. Their women wore long flowing silken dress as men wore flattering patterned _keftas._

She almost felt envious but admire them.

"Before we left," Gilbert said, placing his hands on the table, as he looked at Francine. "The Emperor heard about your coronation and planned to congratulate you. I asked him, if I should put his name on the important guest list for the event and he promptly agreed." He finished. Francine cupped her hands together, breathing out slowly.

"Really? You really did that?" She asked, her pulse quickened. Gilbert nodded his head and laugh escaped from him.

"Of course," He chuckled, sliding off from the table. A knock came from the door. The same royal guard appeared, standing besides the doorway. Behind him was Ludwig, his hair neatly groomed and he was in his casual attire, a simple blue pikeur tailcoat over his ruffled white shirt.

Francine looked up, as she turned around to faced the door. "Come in," She announced as the royal guard nodded and stand to the side, letting Ludwig entered the room first, before he followed in.

"Your majesty," Ludwig said politely, hesitating slightly, more like a question instead of a greeting.

Francine grunted. "Enough with the formalities. I haven't got used to it yet," She sighed, flashing a look at them.

Ludwig nodded, adding a soft smile. "I haven't gotten used to it, too." He said to her, before shifting his glance at his brother. "I heard father's muttering about you," He said, as Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"I know that, hence I shall go and change," Gilbert flashed a smile, making a mock bow before strolling out the room, whistling in a off-key tune. Francine leaned against the table, drumming her fingers along the side. Ludwig fidgeted slightly, scratching his arms, looking rather unconformable.

"Aren't you a little nervous?" Ludwig asked, breaking the silence. Francine shook her head.

"I really don't mind the whole coronation-"

"I meant the marriage," Ludwig interrupted her, his eyes gazed steadily at her. Francine felt her heart plummeted slowly to her stomach. She frowned, nearly forgotten about her marriage to the prince. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted the royal guard stepped forward, clearing his throat.

"Queen Lovise just announced that she will arrive to the palace today," Ronan said swiftly. "She would be bringing her son, as well."

Francine straightened up, alarmed. "She couldn't possibly changed plans! Is my father notified of this?" She asked the guard, her voice brimming with shock. The boy nodded his head.

"Just a couple minutes ago," He replied to her, as Francine slumped back, leaning against the table. Ludwig shook his head, muttering something. He set his eyes on the boy, frowning.

"She must be getting tired of the delay of the marriage," Ludwig said, glancing at Francine. She jumped up, throwing her arms in the air.

"But it's only been delayed for year, that was the time when I was sick and couldn't even move and that was her idea to moved the date up to now," Francine scowled, folding her arms. "It wasn't like I dislike marrying a man that everyone swoons upon seeing him."

"And did anyone swoon and faint when you lay your eyes at them?" Ludwig countered, a small smile escaped from his lips. Immediately, Francine thought of a boy in her mind. It was when she was in a carriage, waving to the people she went by, until she came across a house, and saw him, gazing from the window. She could remembered clearly of his hair. Red. His steady forest green eyes gazed at her. She remembered the tightness in her chest, the longer she looked at him. His eyes was hollow and melancholy, the sadness behind his eyes. Francine parted her lips, as the image of the boy planted firmly in her mind. _Francine, get a hold of yourself._ Francine scowled to herself. _  
><em>

"Francine, are you blushing?" Ludwig smiled just as Francine looked up at her brother. She widened her eyes, covering her face with her hands. Her heart raced momentarily but relief washed over her when she realized Ludwig's referring to the prince.

"I know that, thanks for the commentary," Francine huffed, still covering her face. She peeked out from her hands, seeing Ludwig and Ronan next to the doorway, murmuring softly. She moved her head slightly to her right, searching for Ludwig's expression. He frowned heavily, flexing his fingers. Francine grew worried, she knew that a news is coming, usually it's bad. Of course, Ronan maintained a neutral expression, just like any other elite royal guards do. But Ronan are close to them and understand every personal events from their life. Ronan tightened his lips into a straight line, as he listened to boy, that Francine is unfamiliar with, possibly another guard. Francine strained her ears to listen to their conversation, but the low murmurings are hard to comprehend.

Ludwig nodded his head, solemnly. "Thank you, Antonio, you're dismissed."

Francine suddenly remembered his face from her several visits to the royal guards' headquarters. Antonio was one of the familiar faces that she seen in the headquarters. She heard several rumors about him, that he was born in the seas and that he was a son of the kingdoms' greatest hunter of the seas. Antonio hasn't say much about himself, but admitted that he, indeed, was born on the ship.

Antonio bowed his head, before he retreated away. Francine slowly dropped her hands down to her side, as Ludwig turned his head to face her.

"What is it?" She asked, quietly. Ludwig tensed slightly, swiftly glanced at Ronan before he answered.

"Queen Lovise's younger sister is also staying here, the Queen's request," He responded, looking away. He muttered softly under his breath and slowly paced around the room, nervously.

Francine furrowed her brows together, fearing those words. The Queen's younger sister used to be her tutor, teaching her fight with a sword and compete with other guards. She's a bit bitter and harsh, unlike her older sister, who's more poised and graceful. It was rough for the first few years but soon Francine grown used to her sword and managed to win every fights, except for Ronan.

"I suggest both of you to prepare of their arrival," Ronan spoke, in his calm manner. Francine had to admit that the boy had his ways to effect on people, even Ludwig calmed a bit and stopped paced around the room. "Your father should be waiting for you at the main hall," He added.

Francine stood up, gazing sternly at Ronan. "Tell Gilbert as well about the news. Tell him to come prepared." She said, as Ronan nodded and quickly left the room, holding the door for Ludwig to exit, before bowing again at Francine, and gently closed the door shut. She waited for the footsteps to died down, before she quickly moved to the window, opening its window. The cool wind fluttered against the drapes, as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the sills. She sighed, closing her eyes. Below her, she could hear the clamor of sounds echoing across the courtyard. People bustling frantically to prepare any last minute decorations and the banquet. Her mind raced nervously as she drew back from the clamor, silently closing the window. Francine slowly went across the room, opening the door. Peering around the hallway, she quickly slipped out of the room, strolling down the corridor, her heels echoing against walls. She went downstairs, her hands lightly gripping on the handrail, until the warm essence of light caught her eyes. She stopped on the floor, slowly walking into the grand halls, her eyes spotted them. She tried to smile at them, but her face grew hollow and heavy.

Gilbert caught her expression, frowning, as he walked over to her.

"Hey, are you all right?" He asked softly. Francine shook her head. She sighed as she wished she would sugar-coated her reply, but truth always matters in her family, ever since her father, or even better, her foster father took her in as a child when he found her at the war-torn village. Although she couldn't remembered much of her past, expect for her tattered and dirtied handmade doll that she always carried around. It was given to her from a woman that she never met before. But she remembered the woman's cries mixed along with fresh newborn's.

Francine shook her head again, pressing down her dress with her hands. She straighten her posture, to look formal as possible, as she beckoned Ronan closer.

"Have the party ready to greet her, I expect everyone looking their best today and tonight." She told him in a brief whisper. Ronan dipped his head with acknowledgment as he took a step back before heading to the courtyard. Francine turned to glanced at her father with a smile.

"You seem ready," King Fabius said to her, Francine couldn't help but to look away.

"I don't look ready," She insisted again, sighing heavily.

"Yet," He quickly countered, before Francine could rebutted further, her father turned his gaze at his sons, his eyes soften slightly.

"Gilbert, try not to horrified our guests, especially the queen," King Fabius spoke, as Gilbert blinked his eyes before responded with a mild nod. "And Ludwig, try to act less...fidgety?"

Ludwig suppressed a faint smile, shifting his feet nervously. Gilbert cleared his throat, nudging his brother's arm gently. "Put your arms down, you look like a man who's trying to find his change," He whispered into Ludwig's ear.

Ludwig's face burned with embarrassment, as he quickly set his arms to his side. "But it itches," He mumbled to himself, avoiding the glare from his father.

"It'll be fine," growled King Fabius, as he faltered his voice as someone slipped back inside, holding several winter cloaks bundled around his arms. Francine watched Antonio handing the cloaks to them, before he came over and handed hers. Francine touched the softness of the cloak, as Antonio helped her put on the cloak. It felt cool but it soon began to warm a little. Feeling comfortable inside, she turned around, thanking Antonio.

Antonio smiled back at Francine, before leading the way to the courtyard. The breath of cold air hit her face hard and icy, as she buried herself deeper in her cloak, her face started to turned rosy red, stinging with the bitter wind. She could hear Gilbert shivered slightly besides her. Turning her head to the side, she spotted Ronan and several other guards stand in a formation, a straight row. They didn't have to wait long for the first carriage to roll by into the courtyard, followed by another one.

The first carriage parked near to them, as Ronan went up to it, slowly opening the door. A head appears from the carriage, glancing around, before he slipped out from the carriage. His vivid icy blue eyes fell onto Francine, a smile curled up against his lips. Francine's heart jolted, pounding against her rib cage. Ronan outstretched his hand to help escort the man down the carriage but he turned down his offer, or perhaps he didn't see since his eyes was set at Francine, as he climbed down from the carriage.

The man headed towards Francine, lifting her slender hands, before planting a soft kiss on the back of the palm. He quickly gazed at her, regaining his posture. Francine bit her lips, hating that the kiss still tingled in her skin, she rubbed her hand as she glanced back at the man.

"Matthias," She spoke, her voice slightly wavered as he smiled again at her.

"Francine," Matthias quipped, imitating her tone. Matthias glanced towards where her brothers are, as he mustered a greeting before he pay respect to King Fabius.

Francine switched her attention the two horseback riders, a tall man with glasses dismounted from his horse as he slowly walked to the second carriage, opening the door. A ivory skin hand reached out to meet the man's hand, before a woman appeared out from the carriage. The man's long blue coat fluttered against the wind as he stepped back, helping the woman land on the ground. Her beautifully ruffled violet dress swirled around her feet as she slowly stride towards them.

Matthias looked back, seeing the woman, a smile yet appeared again. "This is my mother, Queen Lovise," He said.

* * *

><p>AN: Normally I planned to make this longer, but after a while I started to realized I'm over my word limit, so I decided to divide up this chapter into two parts. I know it's confusing to some people about Francine's two brothers are Gilbert and Ludwig, but I did stressed out the word half-brother, meaning Francine aren't exactly related to them. There's actually a reason why I made these three as siblings. Germania actually consists of several tribes throughout Europe and some of the tribes are in a region where, today, is France ( the other part of France belonged to other groups such as Gauls and Celts). Language wise, French was part of the Germanic speaking language. From the 3rd century, Western Europe was invaded by Germanic tribes from the north and east, and some of these groups settled in Gaul. The Franks invaded the northern part of France during that time period, thus combining the existing dialects of the Roman Gauls and the Franks, created the old Frankish, or ancient French.


	5. Chapter 5

The burning scent set waters in Alistair's eyes, gazing emptily at the ashes, swirling around with the dust. He was kneeling down, pressing his hands on the soft earth, not caring if he got his hands dirty. He didn't care that he stayed for an hour, as long as he held his father's ashes, it would be fine. He didn't bother to look up as Janet say besides him, pulling her knees close to her chest. Janet chewed a strand of her hair, nervously glancing at Alistair. She reached forward, gently touched her brother's arm.

"Hanna's getting worried, she wanted you to come back. I even left some porridge for you," Janet said, softly. Alistair didn't respond, he kept his silence, staring at the cremation urn. Janet nudged his shoulder to get him to respond. "Alistair, we can't bring him back," She said, her voice ebbed away, as Alistair let out a brittle laughter, his eyes was vacant and emotionless.

"Why would she care? She never loved us anyways," Alistair giggled uncontrollably, tossing the urn to the ground.

She drew her arm towards her eyes, wiping off her hot tears. She quickly reached forward, grabbing the urn, holding it near to her.

"Alistair!" She exclaimed, throwing a glare at him, shaking him. "Alistair, father's gone! You can't bring him back." She tried to help Alistair regain his reality. Frightful tears formed around her eyes, as she let out a shaky breath. Alistair breathed out heavily, choking on his tears. He slumped against her shoulder, letting out another bubbly laugh.

"It's my fault," He said, closing his eyes to shut away from the pain. "He was just there," He extended out his hands into the air, before he curled his hands into fists.

Janet shook her head wildly. "No, Alistair. This isn't your fault. He had a stroke," She said, her voice hoarse from the memory. She swallowed as he didn't respond back, sighing, she propped her bother up, sitting up straight. She held gently around her arms, rubbing his back to comfort him. It helped, slightly, as Janet noticed Alistair calmed a bit, watching him draw up his knees to his chest and lay his head upon it.

"Mum used to rub my back when I had nightmares." Alistair said in a undertone voice. Janet had to strained her ears to hear him better. She stopped her hands, glancing at Alistair. Janet shook her head to herself, she covered her face, a sudden flash of memories sweep into her, her shoulders shook. Alistair quickly glanced up, seeing the sudden change, glancing at Janet. "Janet?" He asked, worriedly, quickly reaching out to hold her.

"You promised not to talk about Mum again," Janet shook her head again, wincing from the touch. Alistair frowned, gently pulling her close to her.

"I promised," He said, guilt washed over him, as he shifted his eyes towards her. "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry." He chewed his lips, shaking slightly, biting his tongue slightly to harshly remind himself. A burden lay across his family, to utter a single word Mum would bring the healing scar cut wide open to them. Except for Arthur, Alistair thought. He's young and wouldn't remember much about Mum, but he's now older and grown up and - it had to be Father.

Fate is the cruelest thing.

Janet sniffled, blinking her eyes at the urn, cradled against her chest. She sat up slowly, gazing her sorrowful eyes at Alistair.

"I want to throw him to the river," Alistair said, after a long silence. Janet gripped tightly on her trousers, her breath caught up short as she tried to comprehend his words. She looked at him, trying to read his eyes, but they gave nothing away.

"He's our Father," Janet argued, shaking her head.

"I don't want Arthur to look at the urn or Father's remains, he had experienced enough today" Alistair bristled, his ears throbbed with the quickening of the pulse, remembering Arthur clutching Dylan's arms for support and when Hanna angrily scolded for him to bathe, Arthur refused, not taking of his coat, gripping it tightly as he whimpered, lying on his bed.

"Alistair-" Janet looked torn apart, her eyes searching for a response.

"Do you want him to have our scar, Janet?"

Janet blinked slowly, nodding her head, as she stood up from the ground. Together they went into the woods, passed the tower to the nearby river and stopped. Alistair turned his head to Janet, watching her cradled Father's remains tightly as she slowly lifted the lid. A sob came from her again, a choking sound as her hands shook violently. Alistair quickly went to her, holding her back with his hands.

She whimpered, not glancing at Alistair as she scattered the first handful of ashes into the river.

"Oh all the time that e'er I spent," Alistair heard her voice carried out from her lips as she sang. It was brittle, brimming on the verge of tears. "I spent it in good company. And any harm that e'er I've done,"

Alistair lowered his head, looking back at the river. Father had sung the melody for Mum in her resting place. Fire burned around her as she lay peacefully on the raft that Father made for her. He given her a white lily on her silken hair and dressed her in her favorite dress. Alistair had asked Father where she would go, Father gently whispered to him. "Whenever she feels free," He had replied, as his eyes watched the raft slowly drifted further away from them and into the descending mist.

Another handful of ashes tossed into the river as Janet's voice filled the forest's air.

_May those I've loved through all the years_  
><em>Have memories now they'll e'er recall;<em>  
><em>So fill me to the parting glass,<em>  
><em>Goodnight, and joy be with you all.<em>

Something inside of him snapped as he reached out and stopped Janet from tossing the last of the ashes.

"No, not all of him," Alistair said, his breathing ragged and heavy. "He's our last memory of what we have as a family," He whispered softly. Janet's eyes lighted up as she quickly covered the urn. She, then, leaned forward and hugged her brother, relief came over her. Alistair finally gave in, turning his gaze at Janet, before he hugged her back.

"Thank you," She breathed, closing her eyes gratefully. Alistair drew a sharp breath, nodding his head. Janet let go from their embrace, then her eyes shifted to a distance, mildly frowning. "Someone's at our house," She said, as Alistair turned his head around to look. He squinted his eyes, taking shape of the shadow as a horse. A light flickered on at the kitchen, as several figures huddled around the table. Alistair faintly could hear Hanna's voice carried through from the open window.

Alistair knew her concern by the way she talked and fidgeted slightly, he gave her a slight nod as they went back to their house. As they draw near to the house, Alistair glanced quickly at the horse, catching a glimpse of the emblem near its rump. A royal seal. Curling his fingers on his side, he went inside. _  
><em>

As soon as they arrived to the kitchen, the conversation stopped, Hanna gazed at them, her face fumed with anger.

"Where have you been?" Hanna growled, throwing a glare at Alistair, rising from her chair. Its legs screeched across the wooden floor. Instead of answering, Alistair moved his eyes at the stranger sitting at his chair, a spoon gripped in his hands, as he glanced nervously at the scene. He was about the same age as Alistair, a couple inches shorter than him.

"Alistair," Hanna said bitterly at him, as Alistair quickly faced her. "Answer me." She went on once she have his attention.

"That's none of your business." Alistair felt himself spoke, in a voice that's unfamiliar to him. He wished he haven't went head to head to Hanna since her face fumed even further. Alistair felt his muscles tightened, half bracing himself for what's coming, but Hanna soon calmed down, her face was bright and uplifting as the man quickly wanted another bottle of rum. Eagerly, Hanna reached to the cupboard shelf and pulled out the last one, handing the bottle to the man.

The man made eye contact at Alistair, winking at him before he turned towards Hanna, accepting the bottle. Alistair watched the man set the bottle on the table, not drinking from it. Alistair felt grateful for him, breaking the conflict.

"Just as I said before," The man spoke in a soft voice, seeping a glance around the room, pausing slightly. "Her Majesty arrived at the palace and requested an assistance for the wedding,"

Hanna plopped to her chair again, placing her chin on her hands. "She only asked for me, only?" She asked, her gaze lingered hesitantly at the man.

The man nodded, before he turned his head at Alistair and Janet. He jerked his thumb over to them, cocking his head, brimming with curiosity. "My lady, are those your children?" He asked.

Hanna gazed at them, her eyes was sharp and menacing and it was clear to Alistair that she hated responding to that particular question.

"Yes, they are," A little nibbling on her lips.

The man quirked a smile, his eyes glinted something to say but he changed his mind.

"You have raised them well," The man nodded his head towards Alistair's direction. "I was wondering if you could bring the two of them to the palace. Or if you have several others?" He asked.

Hanna blinked back, pulling away slightly as she leaned her back on the chair. "Wha-what?"

"Do you have any other children or just these two?" The man asked, leaning forward on the table.

Hanna nodded abruptly, clearly confused as the man reached over and gingerly touched her hands. "Ay-aye, I have two more," She quickly finished, then hollered their names. Seconds ticked by as footsteps came from upstairs and reached to the staircase. Murmur of quiet voices echoed closer to the kitchen as Dylan and Arthur appeared from the foyer. Arthur blinked his eyes, adjusting to the yellow candlelight, his eyes was still red and puffy. Dylan's condition was just as worse as Arthur's, his shirt was ruffled and wet on the shoulders as someone had lay their head against it and cried.

The man took a brief glance at Arthur and Dylan before facing Hanna. "These two will be fine as well," He commented.

Hanna raised her brows, inquiring.

"The palace's needs more of royal guards, since the last few retired or went missing," The man answered, only lowered his voice for the last part. Hanna didn't seem to heard him correctly or chose to ignored him, as she suddenly straighten up.

"You're asking them to come as well?" Hanna asked, eyes narrowing at the man. He nodded his head swiftly.

"Aye." He replied.

Hanna gazed upwards at Alistair before she replied. "I rather wanted them to stay here during my departure," She prompted, leaning her elbow against the table. "I'll be back soon, so there's no need for them to come with me to the palace." A hint of sneer echoed behind her voice.

"You'll be needed for a month until the wedding," The man quickly countered, a smile widen across his lips. "You wouldn't want your children to suffer and alone at the house for a month, right?"

Hanna paused, her body stiffened as her gaze looked hesitant.

"How about a ten thousand pounds sounds to you?" The man asked, placing a pouch on the table, pushing it towards Hanna's direction. Hanna eyed at the pouch, nervously fidgeted as she shook her head.

"Sir, you can't possibly-" Hanna chuckled amusingly but it soon died out as the man placed another two pouches, the same size as the first one, on the table.

"How about double?" The man said.

"You're asking me to sell the house?" Hanna frowned.

"There's a nice place for you and your children at the palace." The man smiled kindly to her. "It doesn't have to be a month,"

Hanna gazed eagerly at the money before she slowly reached out her hands to take the offer. "I want to leave as soon as possible, this wretched place is driving me to insanity,"

Alistair shot his hands towards Hanna, seizing the money and snatched it away from her. "You cannot,"

Hanna stood up, her eyes glinted furiously. "Hand it back," She spat. Alistair took a step back. He had to fight. It's his home, their home. He couldn't possibly sell it, not after the incident. He sweep across the room, his eyes pleading as he faced others. Janet huddled closed to Dylan and Arthur, empty of words. He felt his fingers gripped the sides of his trousers, almost tearing the cloth. He shook his head fiercely, not wanting to believe his eyes. This isn't happening.

"Hand it back," Hanna repeated, extending her arms with palms outstretched. "Alistair, don't make me repeat."

Janet trembled, folding her arms as a sign of comfort. "Alistair, just give it to her. This isn't your fight."

Instantly, a dark smirk revealed on Hanna's thin lips as she snatched the pouch from Alistair's hands, stuffing it in her pocket. Alistair choked back a sob, nearly stumbling back from dizziness.

The man chuckled nervously. "Tomorrow," He replied, nodding his head, as he rise up from his chair, grabbing his coat on the chair, heading to the door. Just like that. With no other words.

"Tomorrow," Hanna confirmed, grinning widely as she opened the door for him. "Do you need an escort?" She asked, turning her head around, looking at Alistair.

"Oh there's no need-" The man stumbled back, before he went outside. Alistair quickly bolted out, racing out to follow the man.

"How could you?" Alistair gritted his teeth, his fists curled tightly.

"Now let me explain," The man said, noting Alistair' expression as he straightened up. "It wasn't my idea to bribe her," He said, clearing his throat. "I have no choice but to follow orders."

Alistair grunted, turning his attention at the horse and pointed at it. "A guard?" He asked him, as he stepped towards him. The man nodded his head.

Some relief came off from his chest as Alistair nodded back.

"The thing back there," Alistair tried to push the thought about the bribery away, trying to ease his mind. "What did you exactly did back there? Hanna doesn't accept offers easily, especially when it comes to money."

The man chuckled softly, gazing at the stars. "Boy, have you seen this?" He asked, as he pointed to his face. "I don't exactly choose this option but when it comes to desperation, my charms helps," He replied. "Besides I really don't need the use of bribery,"

Alistair frowned further, watching the man took hold on the reins. "Your charms?" He blurted out, blankly. The man turned around and faced him. Alistair took a closer look at the man, shaping out his face under the weak light. He could made out the man's soft yet chiseled features. He looked quite young even if he slicked his hair back. "How many exactly do you have?"

The man's pleasant smile soon faded as he clutched the reins tightly. "One," He said, lowering his eyes slightly. "Or more likely used to,"

"What happened?" Alistair asked, quietly.

"She went away, East is where she's headed," The man replied solemnly, then shook his head. "Anyways, that was over three years ago, might as well live now than relive in the past," He said as he tugged on the reins, slowly wind down the dirt path, his horse trailing behind him.

Heading back inside, Alistair found Hanna sitting on the sofa at the foyer, her hands gripped on the riding whip, her face was neutral of any expression. Besides Hanna, was Janet, her eyes darted from left to right, not bringing herself to face Alistair.

Alistair felt his throat tightened, as Hanna rose from the sofa. "Get down to your knees," She spat, her voice full of venom. Alistair hesitated, but he slowly got down to his knees, shaking slightly.

"You know that there's a punishment for your rude behavior," Hanna said, softly as she circled around Alistair, tapping the whip with her fingers.

Alistair said nothing, but nodded his head. He looked up slightly, gazing at Janet, but she turned her head away, not casting a glance at him.

"I can't hear you," Hanna's bitter voice echoed to his ears.

"Ye-yes," Alistair bit his lips, his muscles tensed as he saw Hanna raised up her arm. The whip made its mark across his back, grimacing from the sear pain. He let out a cry, closing his eyes tightly. Hanna raised her arms again, lashing out the whip at his back again, the same pain flashed over him, almost making Alistair toppled over. He felt a warm wetness behind him, slowly spreading across his skin, as the whip repeatedly lashed out.

Janet let out a cry, rushing forward. "Mother stop that, he's hurting," She cried out, stopping Hanna.

Hanna grunted, shoving Janet back, letting out the whip bit her skin. Janet yelped, jumping back as her skin burned from the whip.

"Get to your room, now." Hanna growled.

Alistair heard a soft cry before footsteps thundered up to the stairs. A door slammed shut, ending the footsteps. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Hanna stopped in front of him, as she raised her foot to tilt his chin up.

"Get up on your feet," Hanna said, coolly, quickly Alistair rose to his feet, hunching his shoulders to minimize the pain from his back. Hanna eyed at him with a cold demeanor, almost as cruel and calculating. "You're a curse," She said, finally out loud, before she struck her whip again across his face. Alistair bit back a cry, feeling the aftermath of the stinging pain as he stumbled backwards.

"Worthless," Another lash came out, sending white hot pain across his chest. Then another. "A curse,"

Alistair slumped to the ground, shaking violently as he felt a slash of blood pooling around his chest. The old scar that Hanna had given him cut wide open again, along with the fresh scar.

"Get up," Hanna barked, holding the whip in her hand, dripping with dark crimson. Alistair shook his head, as he buried it under his arms, as if serves a protection for him. He curled up on the ground, as the whip made its bite on his skin. He lost count of the lashes, growing numb from the endless pain that Hanna had sent.

The cold chill tingled against his skin, as Alistair slowly reopened his eyes and looked up. Hanna stepped back, her breath grew ragged.

"Get to bed, we'll leave at dawn," She said darkly, without another word she turned around and headed upstairs to her room. Alistair coughed, trying to use the sofa to helped him rise from the ground, his sides ached as he tried to regained his posture, standing. Moving slowly to the bottom of the stairs, he huffed, gripping on the handrail, heaving himself up the steps. He stopped a while, catching his breath, before moving on to the next couple of steps before he made it to the top. He inched his way to his room, pushing the door open, stumbling inside. Faces looked up to his direction.

Dylan was helping Janet let down her hair, setting the countless hairpins down at the night table, turned his head, widening his eyes at the sight. Janet let out an exclaim, before leaping out from the bed, guiding her brother to his bed. "Dylan, get the washcloth and the basin," She turned to Dylan as he scrambled to the bathroom, filling the basin with water, before coming out with the wash cloth.

"If I have tried hard enough," Janet muttered to Alistair, as Dylan helped him tore off his tunic. Alistair tried to opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when Dylan applied the wet washcloth on his scars. Alistair shook his head, putting on a smile.

"Don't push yourself too hard," He replied, using Janet's words. Janet grew tired, squeezing his hands, as Dylan cleaned off the blood from his chest and washed the cloth in the basin, the water already turned pink from the blood. Alistair heard Dylan grunted as he moved to his back, dabbing the cloth. He jolted, wincing from the pain, as Dylan stopped and looked at him.

"I don't think I can do it," Dylan said, glancing at Janet, gripping on the bloody washcloth in his hand, slightly wobbled from the salty scent of it. "There's too much blood," He said, as Janet leaned forward, gently moving him out from the bed, as she took the washcloth. "Lay down," She said to Alistair before she dabbed the washcloth into the basin and rubbed his back. Alistair groaned, stuffing his head on the pillow, clutching the bed sheets with his fingers. He felt something poured on his back, a crystalline powder or some sort, as it sends out a wave of pain coursing through his back and into his spine. He screamed, feeling his wounds reopened again.

"Arthur! He's your brother, for goodness' sake!" Janet's voice rang in the air.

"It's salt," Alistair heard Arthur's voice, determined. "If you're are going to help him, I suggest using salt. It'll heal the wounds faster."

Intensity crackled in the air. Alistair shot his eyes opened, the pain ebbed away. He moved his head to the side, glancing up at Arthur. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand held a pouch-salt. Janet had her hands outreached, gripping firmly on Arthur's arms.

"Janet, let him." Dylan turned to his sister, nudging her to stand aside. Janet drifted her eyes to Alistair before withdrawing her hands from Arthur, standing back to watch. Arthur sighed, turning his body around so he could reached his back. He lifted the pouch, pouring its contents out into his palm, before he applied the salt on Alistair's back.

It wasn't painful as the first time, but it still throbbed with a slight sting.

Alistair sighed in relief as soon as the stinging pain died down, Arthur looked at him, his eyes grew tired.

"You're okay now," Arthur said, as Janet and Dylan went off to clean the basin and the washcloth at the bathroom. Alistair naturally nodded his head, shifting to a better position so he could looked at Arthur, without straining his neck.

"How you know about salt?" Alistair asked him, a question popped in his mind. Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

"I read Father's books." He replied simply. He suddenly tensed as he touched his red coat, instantly. "Father gave me these books for my birthday," He whispered. "You told me that he was a good storyteller,"

Alistair smiled, reached out to grasped Arthur's hands. "Aye, I did." He replied.

Arthur blinked his eyes at him, searching for a word to say. "You also told me we're all storytellers and that stories runs in our veins,"

He nodded his head. "Aye, I did." Alistair chuckled, softly, his eyes grew heavily, almost drifting off to sleep. "Do you want to read a story to me, Iggy?"

His brother grinned widely, his eyes brightened as he scrambled from the bed, almost running towards the bookshelf, pulling out a thick volume before marching back to the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, opening the volume. "I like this story, read it a couple times already," Arthur said, flipping through the pages, eagerly finding the page. "I think you will like it,"

Alistair smiled softly, turning his body to the side, propping his elbow as he rested his head his hand. "Aye, I will." He muttered a reply, closing his eyes. Arthur began to read, his voice was soft and gentle. It wasn't long enough when Alistair soon fell fast asleep.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you again guys for reading and reviewing this story. This is probably the latest update before I will head into Thanksgiving break. I'll be visiting my family back at my hometown and if there's time, I might visit Scotland for a short two day trip. I know this is early but I hope you guys have a wonderful Thanksgiving.

The song is called "The Parting Glass" which is one of the Irish funeral song.

Hope you enjoy this chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you for all these lovely followers who patiently waited for the next update. I'm sorry for the long wait, hopefully I will make it up with a couple more chapters over the winter break. Oh, and Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone.

* * *

><p>Francine blinked her eyes at the sudden brightness, realizing the curtains was drawn. She let out a groan, propping herself up. She tried to climb off the bed, groggily, nearly fell as her feet touched the floor. She turned her attention to a young girl, a small playful smile appeared on her lips. She frowned out of confusion. Usually Emma would help dress her.<p>

"What's the time?" Francine murmured as she accepted the warm washcloth from the girl and covered it against her face. The heat tingled against Francine's skin as she began to cleaned off her drowsiness.

"It's nearly noon, your majesty. Good thing I manage to tell the chefs to reheat your breakfas-" The girl replied, quirking her lips slightly. "Oh," She whispered, her eyes darted to the right, avoiding Francine's gaze. Frowning, Francine let the cloth fell to her hands, her ears pricked as she heard a slight movement behind her. She stiffened her back slightly, slowly turned her head to the source of the noise. It was boy, blond hair, his blue eyes staring directly at her.

She heard a scream escaping from her lips, a pillow thrown but missed. Scrambling out of the bed, her feet finally reached to the ground, as she gripped on the nightstand, holding her balance. She stood up straight, panting. She peered down at her clothes, checking herself if there's any unbuttoned clasps. Loose strings or whatever. Francine looked up again, at the boy, still sitting there with his mouth gaped wide open with shock.

"Get out!" She shouted again, throwing her arm in a wide arc and pointed to the doorway. To prove her point further, Francine used another pillow from her bed and shove it against his face. "You sick bast-"

The boy rolled off the bed, avoiding another bunt from the pillow. He straightened his ruffled shirt, grunting with amusement.

"You hit very hard," He commented, a low chuckle came from him.

"There's a fine line between being in bed and marriage," Francine snapped, as she sets her eyes as menacing as possible. Although she knew she would look like a crazed fool or a madwoman, and not menacing and threatening. The boy blinked his eyes, casually, as if her words didn't get process in his brain. Francine wondered if he's a simpleton prince or just pretended to not hear her. At least he was staring at her hair...

"Shouldn't we be in bed as a warm up?" He spoke, a brow raised, giving him this overly childish look. Francine felt an urge to pelt him with another pillow. But she didn't. Francine suppressed a sigh, quickly using her fingers to combed her hair. "Do you need your ears check?" Francine asked, changing the subject. She collected the pillow by her side. "I'm not afraid to use this,"

A quick shuffle to the door, fumbling slightly on the doorknob, he was out.

She counted the seconds that passed enough that she couldn't hear his footsteps before she tossed the pillow to the bed. The heat inside of her died a little, replaced by a wave of embarrassment. Rubbing her forehead, she tried to recalled what happen. She remembered slightly about the dinner last night. Shrugging the thought away, she turned towards the girl, standing there with the basin.

"I apologise for my outburst," Francine flushed a weak smile at the girl. Her mind throbbed, trying to remember her name. Was it Erin? Eva? The girl giggled softly, before she curtsied. "I understand, your majesty." She replied, as she collected the used towel and placed it over the basin. Francine found herself nodding, before she plopped herself on the bed, clasping her hands together. She tried to remain her composure after the incident, she knew they wouldn't go this far, considering the fact they just met yesterday. No, Matthias wouldn't do that. The girl dried off her hands with a clean towel and inched her way to the wardrobe.

"Would green work for you today, your majesty?" The girl asked, glancing over her shoulders. Francine smiled brightly, usually her maid would dressed her in grays or blues, but to be truthful, green was more of her taste. The girl, whom took Francine's smile as an approval and took out the day dress. It wasn't much decorative at first, but once worn, it fits perfectly. Francine stood up, walking over, slipping on the dress. She bit her lip, realising how crinkled clothes from yesterday, the flowers around the waistlines were crushed, some of the petals already fallen off. The girl followed Francine's gaze and laughed softly.

"Don't worry about the dress," The girl spoke. "I'll find someone to fix this for you,"

Francine mouthed the words _thank you, _before she headed out of her room. Turning around the corner, she spotted Antonio, or more so, he noticed her first. She stopped on her tracks, watching him ran up the corridor. He seem out of breath when he drew close to her. "S-she's mad, very angry." Antonio said, once he found his breath and stood up straight. "She went up to you father, demanding to make marriage earlier. She had enough waiting." Antonio paused when he caught her confusion and quickly explains. "Queen Lovise,"

Of course it had to be that woman.

Francine shook her head. "My father and I clearly made a agreement with her. A contract is made, for gods' sake." She could feel her eyes roll far enough to see the back of her head. Clearly the queen always makes things complicated even complex than ever. She glanced at Antonio, her eyes was stern as she spoke.

"Where are they now?" She asked him. She really need to have a talk with the queen.

"Down at the briefing room." He answered her. "I could take you there," He added. Francine dipped her head as he swiftly bowed and lead the way.

As soon as she arrived, she flung open the doors without waiting for Antonio to opened it for her. As quick as it was, Francine flushed slightly, regretting, as she saw her father's face, fuming. Queen Lovise turned her head, slowly, a genuine smile was more of a smirk.

"Ah, how lovely of you to join in our briefing." She smiled, as she nodded her head towards Francine. "But where are your manners?"

Francine clenched her jaws and curstised.

"Good afternoon, Queen Lovise." Francine said, adding a tight smile.

Lovise raised her slim brow. "And?"

Her face burned hotter than the sun. Fabius quickly stepped in.

"Lovise, my children are well behaved and due to the current situation, they are clearly stress and-" He began before Lovise cut him off.

"Then you haven't did a very good job teaching them to behave proper." Lovise ended with a grim note, she shook her head and pressed a sigh. Clicking her heels together, she turned around and strolled towards to the window. "Now back to where we discussed before this young lady distracted us, have you forgotten about our promise?"

Francine wasn't sure if her words was directed to, but her father cleared his throat, clearly annoyed. He furrowed his brows, standing firm on the ground.

"I clearly haven't, but you, my queen, had-"

Lovise spun around with a flash, her dress whirled around as she turned. Her chest rose sharply as her eyes burned with anger.

"Tell me you're not blaming me for breaking the promise?" Lovise hissed, pointing her index finger at Fabius, threatening. "Are you?"

"None of us have broken any promise," Fabius said, his voice wavered.

"Have you forgotten your promise with Caratacus? Have you, Fabius?" She added.

Francine shivered slightly, she was amazed and hated how Lovise acted so calmly but her words was piercing and sharp. Fabius gripped tightly on his shirt, a closer look, Francine noticed his hands were shaking. Out of anger or fear? She waited for Fabius to react, countering with a stinging remark, but none of that occurred. He stood there, simply in defeat.

"There's none of that," Lovise huffed, folding her arms close to her chest. "Berwald already has the paper and I'm sure I could read just as fine," Lovise smiled curtly before she walked towards the door. Lovise eyed at Francine as she went passed her, purposely bumping into her. Francine quickly glanced at the tall man towering over the queen, his eyes sharp and clear, quickly followed her out of the room.

The door clicked shut just as Francine snapped her head to Fabius, seeing him sat down on the chair, his arms propped on the table, his head lowered. Francine shifted her feet before slowly moving towards him. "Father, about Caratacus, who is he?" She asked, hearing the name for the first time. No response came from him.

Antonio stepped forward. "Your majesty, it's time to leave," He said, trying to lead Francine out of the room. Francine brushed away, her eyes glared at her father.

"You're hiding something from us, aren't you?" She pointed out.

"Francine," Antonio said in his hushed voice, holding her arm, gently with a tug. A moment of hesitation passed over her before she gave in. Francine spun around, marching out of the briefing room.

Antonio shook his head, muttering to himself. "You shouldn't have done that," He said, frowning. Francine tilted her head, quizzically. Antonio exhaled, scratching his head before he went on. "Before I took a role as a royal guard, the names: Caratacus and Augustus are both implied, as one might say, banished to be heard under the palace grounds." He lowered his voice as he explained.

Francine was drawn in, this was her first time hearing the name Augustus. "What happened to them? Did they did something wrong?"

"No one knows, but Augustus, was a former ruler of this kingdom before your father took his place..."

Francine nodded her head. "Yes I know that, but what about the promise that my father broke, or so Lovise said."

"They made a vow, a brotherhood. But Fabius never broken the promise. He always kept his words. It was the other two who broken their brotherhood." Antonio said, his eyes gazed at her solemnly.

"But Lovise said that-" Francine suggested, but quickly cut herself off. "Or simply she put that there to anger him even more."

Antonio grimaced, flashing a weak smile. "I don't know, princesa. I don't know."

They ended the conversation with an unsatisfying air as they walked down the corridor, heading to the dining hall. Luckily for her, their conversation quickly spurted to something optimistic and upbeat. She learned that Lady Hanna, her former tutor, had just arrived the past hour, quartering at the guest room. When Francine asked if she could go visit her, Antonio refused, saying Hanna won't be seeing anyone until dinner.

The halls widened as Francine stepped into the dining hall, seeing the table already set for her. She didn't mind about the leftovers, as she walked towards her usual sitting. The same maid earlier of the day, bounded forward, helping Francine seated comfortably on her chair. She smiled at the girl, asking for her name, in which the girl told her name was Erika.

"Francine, may I?"

Francine looked up and nodded as Mathias joined her, sitting across from her.

"I accept your apology," Francine spoke, picking up her spoon. "As for myself, I was acting a bit rash,"

Mathias seem to straightened his composure and let out a smile.

"But that does not mean it's not necessary."

His face fell.

"It was embarrassing," Mathias spoke again, after a mild pause. Francine shrugged her shoulders simply as she lowered her spoon into the soup.

"Maybe we should try again. How about I take you to the garden for a walk," Francine said and acted rather astonish when he laughed. She scowled, lowering her head as she quickly finished the soup. After taking the last spoonful, she set aside the bowl as Erika withdraws it from the table. Glancing over her shoulders, she waved Antonio off, for he bowed and went away.

"Certainly, may I?" He asked, glancing over to her, seeking a response as he stood up. A smile spread across her lips as she rose from the chair, walking besides him, exiting out to the hall. Their stroll in the garden was rather peaceful and enjoyable. They found a stone bench and decided to rest. Mathias glanced over to her, a grin appeared.

"How's the walk?" He asked her.

"Love it, barely even two minutes." Francine replied with confidence as Mathias chuckled.

"A bit realistic much?" He winched, pretending to be hurt.

"And you, my friend, are a hopeless romantic,"

They both exchanged glances, smiling at each other. Once again, they fell silent, enjoying the scenery, even though there's nothing else to see, except for half-bare trees and patches of grass. A light chatter sprung in the air and it grew nearer to where they are. Francine glanced at the pathway, just when a two men entered the garden. "...the royal garden and over here-" Ronan stopped on his words as he noticed Francine and Mathias and quickly fumbled a bow. Francine nodded her head as Ronan regain his posture.

The man besides Ronan was a few inches shorter, he smiled blandly as he followed suit. He looked quite young under his over large red coat, the sleeves seem to wrinkled along the cuffs. His sandy blondish hair seem to fit naturally over his emerald eyes. Francine swear to herself that she seen the colour of the eyes before.

"What's your name?" Francine asked.

The boy bowed his head before answering. "Kirkland, Arthur Kirkland, your majesty."

Francine quirked a smile. "It's pleasure to meet you, Arthur." She said. Arthur curled up a smile again, nodding his head as his eyes lingered away from her.

Mathias seem to straightened up as he leaned forward to the boy. "Prince Mathias," He quipped, grinning at Arthur, as the boy looked up at Ronan for a guidance.

"I'm just helping Arthur to familiar himself on the palace grounds. He seem to gained fast knowledge around this place." Ronan chuckled, glancing down at him. Francine raised a brow, challenge sparked in her eyes.

"Oh? Then tell me, where's the library located?" She asked. Arthur stand up taller, a quirky grin shone through his expression.

"The north wing, on the first floor, third doors down on your left, your majesty." Arthur replied without hesitation.

"The guest chambers?"

"It's located at the south wing, second floor."

"Briefing room?"

"South wing, first floor."

"Do you have any siblings?" Mathias asked suddenly.

"Yes I have, three brothers and a sister." Arthur ended with a amuse smile. Francine beamed, glancing at Mathias with a nod.

Mathias chuckled softly. "He seem sharp enough, is he one of the new guards?" He asked Ronan.

Ronan shook his head no. "I haven't actually thought about it, but-"

"Well, maybe you should have. It's hard to come across a good quality guard these days," Francine advised him, before turning her attention to Arthur. "About your siblings, are they older or younger than you?

"All of them are older than me," Arthur said, his voice was quiet, rather uncomfortable of him answering. He huddled close to his arms, as if he was shielding something from them. Francine glanced at his coat, the way he was reacting and how he seem protective and reserved. She looked up, hesitating to drew a smile.

"That coat, did your brothers or your sister give it to you?" She asked, posing a question. Arthur stood rigid and spluttered something inaudible. His face twisted with pain and flash of horror spread in his eyes. Francine cursed herself before she patted on the bench as the boy stepped forward, sitting beside her. She waited patiently for the boy to dried his tears. Arthur glanced up, stiffening a hiccup.

"My father gave the coat to me yesterday, on my birthday." He said, lowering his head, staring on the ground. "It's the nicest gift he ever gave to me, he spend all his earning just to give me this coat. He wanted it too and its size fitted him well, but he thought about me. He spent his earning for the carriage ride back home just so he could see me and my family. Then he was gone all the sudden-" He broke off, unable to continue any further.

Mathias got up, kneeling in front of him, revealing a tender smile. "Think of this," He said to Arthur, softly. "Treasure the coat, clung onto it with your dear life, and not let anyone near touch this," He said, pointing to the red coat. "Then when it's time, let go of it. It will be painful, letting go of the past. But for now, keep it as long as you can, got that?"

Arthur nodded his head with his frown still in place.

"Smile a bit, wouldn't you?" Mathias asked, as he smiled brightly. "Like this."

With that, Arthur widened his smile, just partially. "Are you here for the wedding? I heard there's one," He asked him, recovering.

"Yes, I'm marrying a girl, actually." He replied, his eyes soften a bit.

"What she's like?"

For some reason, Francine froze her body and inhaled sharply. She quickly glanced at Mathias, trying to catch a glimpse of him looking over. But Mathias kept his gaze at Arthur, his eyes somewhat in a distant and longing.

"Whenever she smiled, everyone would fall to their knees and beg her to become their queen," He spoke, breathlessly.

"She seem pretty," Arthur remarked and straightened up as he heard his name being called. "Oh, I have to go," He muttered as he leaped off from the bench. He headed towards Ronan as a figure appeared, stepping from the corner. Arthur happily bounded towards the man, in which he angrily scolded at the boy. Arthur frowned and crossed his arms as he fought back with a remark. They exchanged fierce conversation with each other, before Ronan stepped in and explained something to the man.

The man's scowl faded as he quirked a smile before he quickly whispered something to Ronan. The guard dipped his head and left the garden. Arthur tugged the man on his sleeve, dragging him towards them.

Francine straightened a smile as the two came closer to her as Mathias quickly brushed his trouser, standing up. The man bowed his head at the prince before switching his attention towards Francine. His eyes were similar to Arthur, a crisp forest green, almost unreal and unnatural. "Your brother, I presumed?" Francine asked Arthur, hoping her predictions were right. Arthur made a vigorous nod, a yes.

"Forgive me for my rudeness," The man smiled as he kneels down. Francine kept a smile to herself, noticing he was acting rather nervous, as she extended her hand towards him, as an acceptance to his apology.

"Forgiven. And your name?" She asked as the man leaned forward, pressing his lips to her gloved hands. A spark radiate from her fingers into her veins. She gasped softly, slightly taken aback of the touch. She watched the man tilted his head, gazing at her eyes.

"Alistair, your majesty,"

And Francine would never forget his name.


End file.
